


Questions

by honey_and_milk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_and_milk/pseuds/honey_and_milk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Natasha question Rumlow about the Winter Soldier.  Rumlow's an asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions

**Author's Note:**

> I really dislike Rumlow, but I decided to try to and get into his headspace as a writing exercise.

Nat’s hand pauses on the door to the burn ward.  She turns to Captain Rogers. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, her gaze assessing.  Steve swallows in a way that she’s come to associate with hurt and anger. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “Anything I can find out, I need to know.  No matter how small.”  He doesn’t say “Anything that could help Bucky,” but she hears it regardless. 

“Alright, Rogers,” she says and opens the door. 

 

* * *

 

               Through the haze of painkillers, Brock Rumlow is barely aware that he’s not alone in the room.  More doctors, he assumes, until he registers the drop in his morphine levels and starts to feel the pain of the burns that cover his body once more.  His eyes focus on the figure at the end of his bed, and he makes a bitter sound that could be laugh. 

               “Thought I was under guard.  No one to see me without security clearance.”  He knew they’d be questioning him about HYDRA soon enough, but with SHIELD in disarray, his only visitors had been his doctors and the military guard outside his door.  “But no one ever says no to Captain America, do they?”  He’d meant for it sound mocking, but it comes out petulant, and his voice slurs like a drunk’s.  Rogers doesn’t rise to the bait, of course he doesn’t, just stands formally, arms in front, glaring holes into Rumlow. 

               “Did you know?” Rogers asks, and Rumlow lets out a bark of laughter that sets him coughing.  Of course that’s what this is about.  The great Captain America is at his door not to question him on behalf of what’s left of SHIELD, not to try and pry HYDRA’s secrets from his hands, but for some sick form of vengeance.  Captain America wants to know how much he can hate him.  It’s the only thing he’s had to be happy about in days, knowing that they got under Rogers’ skin like this. 

               “We all did,” Rumlow’s lips form a grin that cracks and bleeds under his bandages.  “You think they’d keep something like that from us?  Captain America’s boy -- HYDRA’s little bitch.”  He laughs.  “Good for morale.” 

               Rumlow can see the lines of tension in Rogers’ jaw, his fists clenching.  God, this was heaven.  After having to work day in, day out with Rogers and his goddamned boy scout act, seeing him like this was a treat. 

               “Watching the fight drain out of you when you saw his face was pathetic, Cap.  We shoulda sicced him on you ages ago.” 

               “Tell me about how you kept him,” Rogers asks, the words strained. 

               “Don’t tell me you think you you can _save_ him?” Rumlow can’t keep the mirth from his voice.  “There’s _nothing_ left.  He’s a _thing_.  A weapon to be pointed.”

               “He’s not,” says Rogers too quickly, and Brock knows he didn’t mean to let the words slip out.  He grins wider and tastes blood. 

               “God, Rogers,” he says with mock exasperation.  “I’m just trying to save you some grief.  There’s nothing in that pretty head of his except how to follow orders.  He’s HYDRA’s best weapon.  He coulda killed any of us if he wanted to, but you know what he does?  Lies back and takes it, anything we give him.”  He was going to tell Rogers that the Soldier’s probably already returned to base, probably already been wiped, but he sees the Captain’s hands flex minutely, and he knows he’s hit a nerve.  He can’t help but want to press on it.  “He screams and screams in that chair when we wipe him, but he goes in willingly every time.”

               “And you just watched,” Rogers says with a barely controlled rage that sends a wave of delight through Rumlow.  He would be frightened, but the good, noble Captain would never kill an injured man in cold blood in a hospital room.  Idiot.

               “How could I _just_ watch something like that?  I gotta say, Cap, it was a hell of a release to know that after following your orders all day, I could count on your boy to follow mine.  He’s got a hell of a mouth,” Rumlow grins.  “But I’m betting you already knew--”

The blow comes without warning, rattling his teeth.  He’s got enough morphine in him that he hardly feels it.  He laughs.  “When I said he took everything we gave him, I meant it.  And if you think he isn’t back in that vault taking it right now, you’re deluded.” 

               “Fuck you,” says Rogers, and it’s the first time Rumlow’s ever heard him swear. 

               “No, fuck _you,_ ” he growls.   “At least you never needed to pretend you worshipped the ground I walked on, like I had to to fit in with those SHIELD flunkies.”  Rumlow can feel the blood seeping from the cracked, burned skin of his face where the Captain hit him.  It’s sticking to the bandages, making speaking more difficult.  God he hates the stupid, clean cut bastard.  Thinks he’s so damn superior to everyone else, but he can’t even see the beauty of HYDRA’s vision.  Fuck him.  “Everyone just falls down at your fucking feet, don’t they Cap?  How’s it feel to know that your boy falls down at mine, and all I have to do is _ask_ and he’ll do it again?  He takes it like a fucking pro,” he’s running his mouth now, knowing it riles Rogers, knowing he won’t get another chance to see him shaking with helpless rage.  “You teach him that?  He was so _eager_ for it after the last wipe when we finally got you out of his head, but who knows, maybe what’s left of your boy was thinking of the good old days, pretending it was you halfway down his throa--”  He can see the blow coming this time, but doesn’t flinch away.  It’s the quiet, commanding “ _Steve,_ ” that stills both his tongue and Rogers’ oncoming fist.  He cranes his head away from the rage in Rogers’ eyes as much as he can, and notices Romanoff standing by his headboard. 

               “Nat,” he says with a smile that cracks burnt skin.  “I didn’t notice you come in.”  He hadn’t realized anyone else was in the room -- a testament to the drugs they kept him on. 

               “Time to go,” she says to Rogers, ignoring Rumlow entirely.  Rumlow turns his attention back to Rogers. 

               “Or maybe,” he muses, “You’re just jealous cause you never stuck it to him.”  There’s a flare in Rogers’ eyes, but Romanoff’s hand is on his chest, holding him back from whatever he was planning. 

               “Time to go,” Romanoff repeats, holding Rogers’ eyes with her own.  Rogers looks angry, angrier than Rumlow has ever seen him, and then he drops his head and lets Romanoff steer him out of the hospital room. 

 

They do not resume his morphine drip. 

 

* * *

 

               Natasha can feel Steve shaking as she guides him from the hospital with a hand on his back.  She expects him to explode once they’re outside the doors, but he gets into the car in silence and grips the steering wheel with white knuckles.  They’ve been on the road ten minutes when he pulls onto the shoulder and shuts off the engine.  He doesn’t say anything, just leans back in his chair and swallows tightly. 

               “You did good, Rogers,” Nat offers.  She’s never been good with comfort, not when it’s not an act.  Steve swallows again and she can tell he’s fighting tears.  “We got the intel.  We know he was kept in a vault, we know they had to wipe him because he was remembering you, we--”

               “Nat,” Steve cuts her off and his voice is raw.  Natasha doesn’t know what to say, and so she says nothing, casting her eyes to the floor.  For a long time, neither of them speak, the ragged breathing Steve fights to control the only sound in the vehicle. 

               “You know,” says Steve after a while, his voice quaking.  He’s trying to smile and that only makes it worse.  “Bucky is the best man I’ve ever known.  He doesn’t-- he didn’t deserve--” Steve’s words are choked off and he hangs his head, shaking it.  Natasha can see tears fall on his thighs.  She puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs little circles there. 

 

It’s the best she can offer. 


End file.
